Immortal Consequences(3)
Maya instinctively flinched. “No. But…a group of Ascended were seen out by the Main Yard. Sent at least a dozen students to reformatory.” She craned her neck forward and glanced around the corridor nervously. “I really don’t think the two of you should be pushing your luck right before the Decennial.”
Wren cursed under her breath. Of course. She’d been so worried about a new student arriving that she’d nearly forgotten that the opening ceremony would happen tomorrow evening. If they were caught…it could ruin her chances at the nomination.
Every ten years, the students of Blackwood Academy were considered for the Decennial Festival. Out of the hundreds of students at the academy, only one would secure the nomination, carefully chosen with respect to their skills and talents by the school’s Headmaster and its six Housemasters. The nominee would then participate in four trials meant to test their magical abilities. Truthfully, the trials were more of a formality. A tradition as old as the Decennial itself. Not a single nominee in the entire history of Blackwood had ever failed the trials.
Though there was always the risk of being the first.
Once all four trials were complete, the nominee would be awarded a choice: formally graduate as a student and become an official Ascended, or venture into the unknown and cross over to the Other Side, putting their soul to rest.
Permanently.
The only problem was, nobody knew what the Other Side looked like. It was a gamble. A complete and total risk.
The answer for Wren had always been abundantly clear. Granted free rein over their magic and released from their eternal reaping duties, Ascended students were housed in a special building on campus and tasked with the responsibility of helping Housemasters run their classes. And that was precisely what Wren intended to do if she was chosen for the Decennial.
She just needed to find a way to remove August from the equation.
“We won’t get caught,” Wren promised. “You have my word.”
Maya nodded, dismissing them with a groggy wave, and shut the door. August scoffed and walked ahead while Wren did her best to match his pace.
“She should learn to mind her business,” he muttered under his breath.
“She’s actually pretty nice,” Wren countered. “You’ve heard of the word nice before, haven’t you?”
“Don’t think so. Could you use it in a sentence?”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” Wren rolled her eyes. “You know, you ought to learn how to be a bit nicer. Some people are starting to believe you’re a walking corpse. Nothing but a broken soul with no feelings and emotions.”
August smirked at her, though Wren swore she saw a flicker of something resembling regret flash in his gray eyes. “No, my sweet Loughty. If I’d lost all feelings and emotions, then that would make me a Demien. And though unlimited power does sound thrilling, I’m afraid my humanity is still very much intact.”
For now.
Wren could imagine August as a member of the Demien Order. She’d imagined it countless times before.
Though the precise location of the Demien Order was a mystery, there were rumors that they existed somewhere just beyond the outskirts of Blackwood, hidden deep within the surrounding forest, obscured by the crooked branches and rotten leaves. Demiens worshipped a higher power, an unknown entity known only as the Soulless One, who granted them the ability to strip themselves of their humanity and access shadow magic.
Throughout history, a number of Blackwood students had chosen to venture outside the iron gates in search of the Demien Order, prepared to sacrifice the little humanity they had left for an eternal source of power. But becoming a Demien meant completely relinquishing that human part of themselves. The part that stuck around even after they ended up in Blackwood. The one that yearned for home. For connection.
It was said that the more shadow magic a Demien created, the more their soul would change, rotting and decaying until they were left more shadow than human. No moral compass. No conscience to guide their decisions. Shadows would corrode their soul, consuming every inch of the person they used to be.
And once they’d been completely consumed…there was no going back.
“Oh, hush that brain of yours.” August chuckled as he turned a corner. “I can practically hear the gears turning from here. I have no genuine intention of joining the Demien Order. I just like riling you up.”
“Right. I’m happy to hear you don’t plan on joining a brainwashed cult. Do you want an award or something? Maybe a parade?”
“No need.” August grinned over his shoulder as they approached the arched wooden doors carved into the entrance of Pettyworth House. “Getting to see the look on your face when I’m chosen this Decennial is the only award I need.”
“Well, that’s awfully presumptuous of you.” Wren masked her rage with an impassive smile. “Chances are you won’t even get nominated. Again. How many years has it been, old man? A hundred at the very least?” She raised her brows and smiled in satisfaction. “I’d be worried if I were you.”
“I still have plenty of time left,” August muttered defensively. “Most students don’t begin to experience the Forgetting for hundreds of years. You’re not getting rid of me yet.”
Wren shivered at the mention of the infamous transition, her sense of victory at her jab fading.